The Hills Are Alive...

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The gentle clang of cowbells reverberated across the mountain valley, echoing off the steep, rocky cliffs towering above us. I smiled and thought: Swiss cows really do wear bells around their necks. I spotted a few of these mellow creatures ambling along a grassy ridge above our trail, a few more down by the clear green lake below us. The morning sun, already warm, drenched the scene in vivid light. The sky was an unreal blue. I took a deep breath of the absolutely fresh air, and began the zigzagging climb up Bannalp.

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The hike in the mountains outside of Luzern had been planned months ago by one of those special people with whom I have had the good fortune of crossing paths on my travels. Two years ago, while staying in a little guesthouse on the southernmost island of the Faroes, Suðuroy, I met C. and his family, visiting his sister’s former host family. C. introduced us to that family, opening up doors in the Faroe Islands that I and my traveling companion never imagined we’d get to walk through, not the least of which was getting invited to a Faroese home to celebrate the most important festival on the island’s calendar, Ólavsøka. But C. and I also connected and remained in touch after we each went our separate ways, he back to Switzerland, I (at the time) on to Iceland. I am not sure I imagined then that two years later, I would be seeing him and his family again, visiting their homes. But that’s what makes life so wonderful - such twists and turns.

Taking bikes down to the Luzern train station, C., his girlfriend, and I met up with C.’s father. The train, departing precisely on schedule, as a Swiss train does, was full of vigorous looking Swiss retirees fully kitted out in hiking gear - boats, hats, sunglasses, and trekking poles. I found myself, not for the first time since arriving in Switzerland, marveling at just how much the people here take advantage of their stunning surroundings, staying fit and active their entire lives. It is inspiring. The train then disgorged us at a little town, Wolfenshiessen, so deep in a mountain valley it was still dusky with shadow even though sunrise had occurred hours ago. (At some points in the year, Wolfenshiessen and its neighbors almost never see the sun, blocked as it is by the towering mountains surrounding the valley.) There, we hopped on a Swiss institution I was amused to learn about: the post bus. A combination mail delivery service and public transportation system! It is intended to connect even the most remote villages. The bus wound its way up a steep road to the village of Fell, passing storybook Swiss cottages and barns, men harvesting hay by hand. In Fell, we and the retirees scrambled on to the last form of mechanical transportation we would need to reach our starting point, the gondola lift that pulled us almost another 1000m upward into the mountains, breaking past the tree line. It took a bike, a train, a bus, and a gondola to reach this spot, but as soon as we set foot on the path I knew that the hike was going to be a highlight of my time in Switzerland.

We circled the Bannalp Lake (artificial but still beautiful), climbed through a mountain pass, and then perched on an outcrop with panoramic views of the surrounding valleys and the mountains to have lunch. We continued on, crossing Alpine meadows, dipping back into wooded valleys, climbing through pine forest back to the tree line. Our final major stop allowed for a sweeping view of the snow-capped Mount Titlis, one of the highest peaks in central Switzerland. We were drenched in sweat, legs aching from the up-down-up-down of the hike, but being up in the Alps on that hot summer day was something I had looked forward to since C. proposed the adventure. I was not disappointed.

The last sound I heard before we entered the gondola that would return us to the level earth below: cowbells.

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